Mr MONK in Brazil
by DancingStar01
Summary: Mr. Monk and an OSIR team get involved in a murder case...


Title: Mr. Monk in Brazil  
German Title: Mr. Monk in Brasilien  
Author: Dancing Star  
Crossover: PSI Factor/ Monk  
Pairing: Connor / Lindsay  
Rating: 12  
Category: Crime / Humor  
What happens: Mr. Monk is on vacation. When a murder happens in his hotel, he meets other travelers from the OSIR, who are interested in solving the crime.  
Comments: I love Monk. He always reminds me of my best friends :-)

Rio de Janeiro, eu te amo :-)

**Mr. Monk in Brazil **

It was a surprise and Mr. Monk hated surprises.  
He really didn´t want this holiday, but his friends had said he should relax. Faster than he wanted, they had given him a ticket to Rio de Janeiro. His assistant Natalie even had made sure personally he went to the airport and entered the plane. On occasion, Mr. Monk had to thank Natalie, Captain Stottlemeyer and Randy they had sent him to Brazil. Of course he was ironic, because where, if not in South America, was a plethora of bacteria? Mr. Monk had been informed by a doctor: In Brazil drinking tap water wasn´t advisable, you could only drink boiled milk, don´t eat fruits from street sales and it was better to use a straw, so he didn´t touch the bottle while drinking. Of course this was routine for Mr. Monk. He had come to this country with two suitcases: In one were countless disinfectant wipes, in another suitcase where his clothes. He accepted he had to pay for excess baggage. Likewise, he had brought his own shower head from home: Mr. Monk hated showering under strange shower heads, because he believed then the water wasn´t clean. Even his own pillow joined the check-in luggage.  
Now Mr. Monk sat in a shabby BMW and the Brazilian driver took him just in the hotel, which his friends had reserved for him. It was February and possible hot in the land of Samba: The sun beat down from the sky and the humidity was high. Monk felt as if he would run into a wall, when he got out of the car and entered the hotel and handed a tip to the driver reluctantly. Inside the building, he was annoyed at first about the only Portuguese-speaking receptionist, a porter brought him in his room. The room was decorated sparingly and Monk began to wonder how much money his friends had spent for this hotel. Hopefully not too much.  
Monk decided he had to recover from entering the country and he went to bed. Previously, he was referring to his own bed linen, which he had brought from San Francisco.

In the evening, he decided to watch the hotel a little closer although Mr. Monk had planned, to spend the entire stay in his room, but there was no room service and he didn´t know exactly where the hotel restaurant was, so he had to leave his room. The man at the desk didn´t speak English and with gestures he sent Monk on the hotel's rooftop terrace. He had read that many hotels in Rio de Janeiro had a pool on the roof and so did this. But instead of a peaceful terrace with adjoining gym a lively party awaited him. Apparently all guests gathered on the roof: Some children jumped into the pool, laughing, a group of vacationers drank cocktails at a bar. Puzzled, he looked around and wondered for a moment, what he should do. Monk wondered if he should go back to his hotel room and entrench himself, as he had planned, but something made him stay.  
He decided to sit down at a table near the door and watch the people. Monk was a brilliant observer. He found out that the bald man in the red Speedo was a father of two children, playing in the pool, and on the basis of the words he shouted to his wife, Monk noted the man came from a Spanish-language country in South America. Another couple came from Rio Grande do Sul and another one from Santa Catarina. Monk knew that, because the man was wearing a football shirt of the team from Florianópolis.  
A blonde woman rushed to him and asked him in Portuguese if he needed the empty chair next to him. She was among the group that sat at the bar drinking cocktails.  
"I'm sorry. I don´t speak your language", he excused and his pupils darted restlessly.  
"You speak English?", She asked, turning again to her friends, "I wanted to ask you if you need this chair."  
"No."  
"Are you here by yourself?"  
"Yes, um... well ... So I... I'm not interested."  
"What?," the blond woman helplessly frowned, then she understood, "This wasn´t an invitation for a date. I wanted to ask you if you might want to come to our table. English tourists are rare in Brazil."  
Monk had already noticed. And even if he was happy about the invitation, he shook his head. The blonde woman reached again for the chair and carried it back to the table where her friends were waiting for her.

"Who was that?", Connor was interested and Lindsay reached for her cocktail when she sat down beside him.  
"I don´t know," she admitted and turned back around to the man, "He has an American accent."  
"Did you ask him if he wants to come to us?", Peter wanted to know about her and Lindsay nodded. She told them that her new acquaintance apparently wasn´t in the mood to talk to them. Peter, Connor, Anton and Claire looked at Monk, who noted they were watching him and he felt even more insecure than ever, because he began looking left and right. "What´s wrong with him?", Peter asked her, "What did you say to him?"  
"Nothing. I... ", now she understood what he was going to say and she was horrified, "I only asked if he would like to sit with us."  
"Maybe I should talk to him," Anton suggested, got up and walked over to Monk. It didn´t take one minute until the two returned with Monks chair. He sat down with them and they started a conversation about San Francisco. To Monk it was strange to talk to them about his job and his home town, but he seemed to be able to trust these people. He even told them about Trudy. He learned his new acquaintances were in Brazil for professional reasons and they were apparently after mysteriously phenomena. Monk held this job for quite questionable but he wasn´t entitled to form an opinion about them. He wanted to tell them that his friends had sent him on this trip, when a scream interrupted their conversation. The cry came from the hotel's gym. The bartender turned off the music immediately and the guests were quick to hurry up the narrow stairs.  
"We should take a look," Connor suggested, got up and made his way through the crowd that blocked the stairs already. He apologized when he pushed some people aside. "Lindsay, what means I´m sorry in Portuguese?", he asked, when he noticed that most people didn´t understand him.  
"_Desculpe_", she replied. Connor repeated what she had said and followed by his friends, he made his way through the crowd until they reached the glass door to the gym. They saw a young woman who just entered the studio: A dead man was sprawled on one of the treadmills.

They hardly understood police when they came to see the body of the man.  
"No sports," Peter said, when a policeman was taking pictures.  
"Mr. Monk, you're a private investigator. You should offer your help to the police", Lindsay suggested. She and her friends and Mr. Monk were still on the small terrace in front of the gym and watched through the glass, when the men of the Brazilian Policia did their job.  
Anton and Connor noticed how distressed Monk rolled his eyes. "But these people don´t even know what I'm saying," in his mind, he added she almost sounded like his assistant Natalie. Lindsay offered to play the interpreter, even if her Portuguese wasn´t perfect. "You should help, Mr. Monk."  
"I'm sure the police is dealing with more people who had been hit."  
"Hit?", Peter repeated incredulously and they all looked at the dead man lying on a treadmill and a heel of a shoe blue Samba shoe was driven into the skull, "With what?"  
"For example, with a piece of wood... then someone has pierced a Samba shoe into his skull... but the injury to the other side of the skull must be from a larger, more massive weapon. I'm assuming the killer was a woman ", when Monk saw that Lindsay wanted to ask why he added:" He was killed by a women's shoe."  
"That doesn´t mean anything... Maybe someone stole the shoe."  
"This is a very brutal way to die," Connor added and when he saw how the policemen shook his head, he encouraged the detective again, to participate in the investigation. Monk agreed, as soon as all eyes were on him. Together with Lindsay as interpreter and the entire team, he made his way to the police station to offer his help.

The police station, where the murder was investigated, wasn´t located far from the hotel and the officer in charge had allowed them to watch the exact pathology of the shoe through a window. Lindsay rolled her eyes in disgust, as the medical examiner pulled the shoe out of the man's skull and scraped brain matter from the sparkling gems.  
"This is the shoe for the right foot and it has size 37", the woman said into her microphone and Peter was glad her coroner mastered the English language, "In America, this is equal to a size 6 shoe."  
Peter nodded and assumed they were looking for a small woman, if a woman should really be the killer.  
"So the owner of the shoe is rather small," Lindsay concluded and Peter nodded again, because she had read his thoughts. But their suggestion could be difficult: Many Brazilians were small and had petite figures.  
Behind them was a glass door and Monk and Connor entered. Lindsay noted Connor wasn´t looking very happy. And she noted that Monks index finger was wrapped in a thick bandage. "What happened?", Peter wanted to know, who had seen the bandage, too, "Did you pick in your nose and stumbled then?"  
Lindsay didn´t think Peters joke was funny and gave him a pat on the shoulder.  
"No, I... I didn´t. I cut myself... on a paper edge... when I read the reports..." And when the police- nurse had made the bandage, he had used up all her disinfectant.  
"What did you find out?," Monk wanted to know and the coroner reached again for her microphone. "We are looking for a small woman, when we can trust the assumptions of your colleagues.'  
Lindsay didn´t understand what was wrong with that.  
"Gustavo Barros Torres was actually killed with a piece of wood and then a samba shoe was rammed into his skull. Previously, he had some fun with a woman. We found DNA traces on him."  
Peter and Connor were amazed. "You know the victim?"  
"He had an identification card with him," the coroner said, "And besides, Gustavo Barros Torres is a superstar here in Brazil. He has played for two seasons at Por Amor and... ",she noticed that her audience gave her any attention and focused on her work a little offended. She still hoped to find a fingerprint on the shoe.  
"It just keeps getting better," Lindsay muttered, "The body is an actor." Moreover a famous and well-paid. Lindsay wondered why he was staying in a middle class hotel. She believed that even Brazilian superstars could do better.

In the lobby of their hotel they sat on big leather chairs and watched how Lindsay and Connor talked to the staff. They wanted to know if Gustavo Barros Torres was really staying here and of course the staff remained silent. "We need help," Lindsay suggested, who helped Connor as an interpreter. He asked her what she was thinking and without answering, she made her way to the big leather chairs. They stopped in front of Mr. Monk and ordered him to come with them. Peter was surprised that Monk obeyed and followed them back to the hotel reception. "That's Mr. Monk," Lindsay said in Portuguese to the man, "He´s helping the police to find the killer of Gustavo Barros Torres. Now we need your help: We want to know if he stayed at this hotel." As she said this, the man looked at her very shocked. And because it was obviously that Monk was an important person, he searched his computer. Then he shook his head. He apologized to Mr. Monk, because he couldn´t find any data about the famous actor.  
"Maybe he was using a false name," Monk suggested, but the man behind the desk shook his head. "That can´t be. Each of our guests must show an ID card during check-in."  
Now it was up to them to be surprised: "You speak English?"

The young man's name was Marcelo and was willing to help them so they met half an hour later, at the end of his shift, at the restaurant. "I swear to God no one of the staff knew, Gustavo Barros Torres is staying at this hotel ... Don´t get me wrong, but my colleagues are very talk active. If someone would have noticed that Gustavo is here, everybody would know meanwhile." Their theory with the wrong name was probably lost anyway if it was true that every guest had to show his ID.  
"Maybe he had a fake ID", Claire suggested and the rest of her team nodded. They had been warned before their arrival in Brazil they should lock up their papers well in the safe. An ID card was worth a lot of money on the black market.  
"Gustavo is so famous we would have recognized him even with faked papers," Marcelo promised them, "He definitely didn´t stay at the hotel."  
"But what he wanted here?", Connor asked and noticed in of the corner of his eye how Monk waved with his outstretched hands and his palms seemed to be pressed against an imaginary mirror.  
"Why are you waving your hands?", Lindsay asked.  
"It´s a good question what Gustavo wanted here," Marcelo remarked and Lindsay wanted to know what he meant. "He should be in São Paulo to shoot his new film. Nobody knew he was staying in Rio."  
"Oh, yes. Someone knew! ", Peter protested," And that someone is his killer."

In the evening there was a knock at Monk's door and he rose lazily from his chair to answer the visit. The rest of the team stood outside his door.  
"Why are you still here?", Lindsay asked. She didn´t understand why Monk was in his hotel room on a Saturday night and watched Portuguese detective series with subtitles, which he probably didn´t even understand.  
"I watch television," Mr. Monk didn´t want to admit he was afraid of the bacteria and germs, "Although I must admit this movie makes no sense." He had watched TNT Brasil, where the Simpsons movie was shown, "At some points the dome, which is placed over the city is only a few millimeters thick and sometimes several meters."  
Connor and Peter couldn´t believe his only problem was the dome in a cartoon. "The weather is fine out there," Lindsay said, "We go to the Copacabana. There will be a beach party. Marcelo has told us today that many celebrities will be there and maybe we can go there to find out who knew about Gustavo's presence in Rio. Why don´t you come along, too?"  
"No," Monk shook his head frantically, "I prefer to stay here... In addition, we are in a murder investigation. How can you think of a party?"  
Claire had to admit he was quite right, but she also found this shouldn´t spoil their days. They also tried to find out who knew about that Gustavo was staying in Rio.  
"Okay," Connor gave in quietly and after that they left his room. Before they left for good, they reminded him they would meet for breakfast tomorrow.

_It's a jungle out there _  
_Disorder and confusion everywhere _  
_No one seems to care, well I do _  
_Hey, who's in charge here? _  
_It's a jungle out there _  
_Poison in the very air we breathe _  
_Do you know what's in the water that you drink? _  
_Well I do, and it's amazing _  
_People think I'm crazy, 'cause I worry all the time _  
_If you paid attention, you'd be worried too _  
_You better pay attention _  
_Or this world we love so much might just kill you _  
_I could be wrong now, but I do not think so! _  
_'Cause there's a jungle out there. _  
_It's a jungle out there._ ("It's a jungle out there" by Randy Newman)

The next morning they didn´t want to have breakfast in the hotel but in a small cafe near the Copacabana. Because their hotel wasn´t far from the most famous beach in the world, it was easy to get to on foot. "It's terrible here," while they walked down a street, Monk turned around to a group of street musician who played the bossa nova "The Girl from Ipanema", "Even the music is terrible."  
"Don´t say anything you might regret later," Connor warned him. Brasileiros didn´t like people who said bad things about their country or culture. And even less they liked being criticized. However, people were proud of this wonderful place, Connor thought. And the saying "God is Brazilian" seemed to agree.  
On the way they passed over _Zona Sul_, a Brazilian supermarket chain. Connor sent Lindsay, Anton, Claire and Peter forward, so they would get their reserved table. He wanted to do some shopping.  
"You really want to buy something?", Monk asked, who surprisingly had stayed with him.  
"Of course," Connor replied and took a bottle of Coke from the refrigerated section. Although it was already February, Coke bottles with Santa Claus theme were still sold in Brazil.  
"This fridge is dirty," the detective complained, but Connor couldn´t see any dirt, "Also: Have you seen the meat?," Monk pointed to the back of the store. There, large pieces of pork and beef hung in a huge cooling chamber, in which you could see through the windows.  
"Mr. Monk, that meat is sold this way is usual in Brazil", Connor said, "In addition, this is a clean supermarket and the food in Brazil is all manufactured in clean factories." Connor even showed that the expiration date on the food was still far exceeded then he made his way to the checkout and paid for the bottle of Coke and some sweets a total of 7 Reais. Then the two left the grocery store. "You will have something to eat, soon: You must be starving." And in thought Connor added that his breakfast in the restaurant was right.  
They met Peter, Anton, Claire and Lindsay in a small sidewalk café. They could see in Mr. Monk's face he hated to sit down because the road was quite busy.  
The waiter came and brought them their choice of a continental breakfast. Lindsay was allowed to pick out coffee and cornflakes and some small pastries parts for Monk.  
"I can´t eat that."  
"Why not?"  
"Because...", Mr. Monk thought, "The milk, do you understand?"  
Lindsay looked at the glass jug full of milk in her hand. For a second it looked as if she actually understood his problem, but then she dumped the milk into his bowl. "You must eat something, Mr. Monk. Moreover, this is boiled milk from the restaurant kitchen."  
"How many chocolate beans are in the bowl?", Monk asked now.  
"Why do you ask?", Lindsay wanted to know and her voice reminded he detective a little of Natalie, who was sitting in her clean home now and wasn´t drinking contaminated milk.  
"There must be an even number of chocolate beans in the bowl," Mr. Monk said.  
"You should have ordered cereals for him. At least he can´t count this", Peter commented and Lindsay put down the milk jug and looked at him incredulously.  
While Peter was eating, he wondered what phobias Monk probably had: Last night, he had observed how Monk took several minutes until he found the right place for a candle in his hotel room, he disinfected continuously hands with cloths, he cleaned constantly, he sorted everything possible and apparently he was afraid of clowns. Monk also brought his own cutlery for dinner, even now. He had Mr. Monk asked yesterday evening, why he did all this and Monk had told him these phobias became stronger after the death of his wife Trudy, who had been murdered in a parking garage.  
"Excuse me, I...", Monk rose from his chair, "I have three pieces of biscuits on my plate." He got up to get a fourth piece. Peter, Connor and Lindsay looked after him in disbelief.  
"It amazes me that his friends can do this," Connor said, when Monk was out of earshot.  
"All right," Lindsay sighed, "He's a little neurotic, but he knows what he's doing. If it's true what I've read on the website of the police in San Francisco, he is a brilliant detective. "  
"It is hard for me to believe," Peter declared, "Maybe he's one of the crazy people who are secretly watching all Psycho- movies in the basement without interruption."  
"He doesn´t look like this", Connor objected and Lindsay thanked him.  
Monk came back with his pastries and asked them what they had found out yesterday evening at the beach party.  
"Peter showed the okay- sign for divers to a bartender. He didn´t know this is a bawdy gesture in Brazil for a certain orifice. They started fighting and then we had to leave the party. Even the police was there."  
"I wasn´t talking about this", Monk explained, "How many people knew that Gustavo is staying in Rio?"  
"A lot of them knew and it will take weeks to interview all: We were told his colleagues from the film set in São Paulo knew, his producer knew it. His assistant said he sent a text message. The writer and his best friend knew, because he had called both from the plane. A phone bill of TAM Airlines confirmed that... And his wife, who all regret he's dead now."  
"Where is his wife now?", Monk wanted to know. He wondered why they hadn´t met her until now. He had assumed she had accompanied her husband to Rio.  
"We met his producer and he told she´s currently in Fortaleza, where the holiday residence of the two is. Apparently she can´t come to Rio because she is pregnant and the airlines don´t transport her." They had no idea Gustavo's wife had taken the news of the death of her husband: The producer hadn´t said a word about this. Monk combined: So the woman, whose DNA evidence the police had found on the dead body, wasn´t Gustavo's wife.  
"Did you know Gustavo wanted to get divorced from his pregnant wife?", Claire asked suddenly and her colleagues looked at her in surprise, "Marcelo told this."  
"That would be a motive to kill him," Connor combined, "Assuming Gustavo had a lot of money." He decided that Lindsay should call Gustavo´s wife.

Carina, Gustavo's wife, turned out to be very talk active and after only five minutes on the phone Lindsay rolled her eyes annoyed. Her Portuguese wasn´t perfect and on the phone she knew even less than when another person directly before her. First she asked Carina, how she was and only at the end of their conversation, she came to the question of her shoe size. Carina replied, her shoe size was 37 and of course she wanted to know why Lindsay asked this. Lindsay thanked her and hung up. Stressed she pressed the tips of her forefingers against the nasal bones at the level of the eyes. "What´s wrong?", Connor asked anxiously, she shook her head.  
At that moment, Peter entered the room. He was on the balcony for a short phone conversation with the police. "The police found out in which hotel Gustavo actually lived," called Peter to them, "And in his room, they found a receipt for a pair of Samba blue shoes."  
"I don´t understand," Lindsay admitted, "He was killed with his own shoes?"  
"Not quite," Connor added, "I thought the shoes were a gift for his wife. The size would fit."  
"But how comes the shoe out of his hotel in the hotel where he was murdered?... Also why would he want to give her something, if it´s true what Marcelo told and he was about to get divorced?" And where was the other shoe?  
There was something else that had been found: an envelope with three plastic tubes. Peter had seen such tubes before. He was sure they were used for paternity testing.

They wanted to look at Gustavo´s rooms, so they took a taxi to the district of Leblon. This district was next to Ipanema, known for its more affluent residents and independent art. The sun blazed down from heaven today, when they got out in front of the hotel San Cristianos. Connor, Lindsay and Monk were previously at the hotel then Peters, Claire´s and Anton´s taxi.  
"I go in and ask if the police is still in there," Connor suggested and Lindsay nodded. She promised to wait out here with Monk.  
"What's that?", Monk asked and Lindsay didn´t understand.  
"What's what? Mr. Monk, what are you talking?"  
"You are in love with him."  
"What?!", Lindsay looked at him in horror, "How do you know?"  
"I can see", and before Lindsay could disagreed, he added: "I'm a detective,".  
"Don´t tell me now everyone can see it," she asked him and at that moment Connor came back. He stood next to Lindsay and looked at them both very confused because he heard her last sentence. "What can we see?", he asked.  
"Oh, nothing," Monk and Lindsay replied simultaneously, the second taxi arrived and they decided to go together to the hotel. They were lucky: The police was still there and they let them even in Gustavo's room. It was a stylish suite, but it didn´t look as there had been a struggle: Everything was neat and tidy. They concluded this wasn´t the place where Gustavo Barros Torres was killed.

In the evening, after dinner, they were waiting at the front desk of their own hotel for two taxis that Marcelo had called for them. They wanted to go to the police office to find out if there were new traces on the Samba shoe.  
"I know who did it," Monk suddenly said, "It was the producer... You met him at the party and of all the people who knew that Gustavo is in Rio, he was the only one, who is also here... He found out that Gustavo is secretly dating a woman from Rio. He´s also having a secret affair with Gustavo's wife. The baby isn´t Gustavo´s. He must have known and wanted a divorce. And when his producer learned about the woman from Rio, he has used the opportunity to get rid of Gustavo. Thus Gustavo´s wife would get the entire estate of her dead husband... And it all looked like an accident, he was unceremoniously dumped him in the gym on the treadmill. "  
"Yes. But he forgot one thing: The treadmills were shut down when the body was found and also the shoe was still in his head", She had a fabulous eye for the details..  
"Who is his producer?", Monk wanted to know.  
"Mariano Durita," Marcelo behind the counter replied and paused for a moment. "I've seen this name a few days earlier on the guest list"  
"So that's the connection!," Lindsay cried, "This is how the Samba shoe came in this hotel: The producer, with Gustavo's wife was secretly having an affair, has seen it in Gustavo's luggage and because he no longer needed this present for his wife, Mariano Durita took it. He wanted to give it to Carina."  
"Unfortunately, he didn´t count on that Gustavo would visit him at his hotel. Although he had an affair, he wanted to know why his producer did something like this to him."  
Monk nodded. "If we search Mariano Durita´s hotel room we´ll find the other shoe there."

Mariano Durita didn´t live in the same hotel as Gustavo, but his apartment also suspect he had one or two more real than his fellow citizens. The man was surprised when he saw the visit, standing in his room and the porter got away.  
"Are you fans of Gustavo?", he asked. A grin spread across his face, which was then banned by a sad expression.  
"No, we work together with Mr. Monk and try to find the killer," Claire replied. From the corner of her eye she watched as Peter, Anton and Connor were searching the room.  
"This is a nice room, Mister Durita", while Peter said this he discovered a bag, in which the second shoe, a blue Samba shoe, was hidden. Peter used his pen to raise the shoe. He didn´t want his fingerprints on it.  
"Very strange. It´s the left shoe. Size 6. Fits the shoe with was used to kill Gustavo ", Peter waited a second to see how Mariano would respond, "We know it was you."  
Mariano threw a glance around the room nervously. "He didn´t deserve his wife," he exclaimed, "I've searched for him and when I didn´t find him in his hotel room, I have paid his driver to tell me where Gustavo went. I followed him and saw him as he was cheating on her. With a woman who lived at Grand Hotel Copacabana. "  
That was their hotel. The hotel where Gustavo had been found dead.  
"I waited until he was done and when he came out of her room and waited for the elevator, I took my chance and crushed him with a loose board. I hate him for what he did to Carina. I wanted him to suffer and at that moment nothing seemed more desirable to me than ramming the boot in his skull, which he bought for Carina."  
"There's only one problem," Connor said, watching Peter who already called the police with his cell phone, "Gustavo knew you were having an affair with his wife."  
"How'd you know that?"  
"We found a paternity test in his clothes. He wanted to find out when the child was born."

Five days later was the day of their departure and even today it was stifling hot in Rio de Janeiro. After breakfast it was time to leave and they gathered in the lobby of the hotel, so they only had to wait for their driver who took them to the airport. There they would get into their machine, which brought them from Rio to São Paulo and flew on from there to Canada.  
Because of the heat Lindsay wore a blue short dress. "Wow," Claire said, when she saw Lindsay, "Get dressed in another dress."  
"Why?," Lindsay asked.  
"Nobody looks you in the eye if you wear a dress with such a plunging neckline."  
"Connor does." She also found her dress was perfectly fine.  
"Dream on," Claire rolled her eyes and sat down with Peter on the couch. They wondered how long they had to wait for their drivers to pick up.  
Connor finally put his suitcase next to Lindsay´s and sat on it. "Too bad we now fly back home," he said, folding his arms across his chest.  
"Yes, that's a shame... Although it was very nice here, "she paused," I admit that the murder was less nice, but..."  
He nodded and she folded her hands. Then she glanced at her dress and wondered if Claire was probably right.  
"Where is Monk?". Connor wanted to know from her.  
"If I'm not mistaken he´s in the plane to San Francisco. He was very relieved when his driver picked him up today."  
Connor nodded again.  
"I'm monk", it blurted out of Lindsay suddenly, "I'm sure he has infected me."  
"What?," he asked.  
Lindsay looked over her shoulder then she slid closer to him. "I also sometimes have phobias," she told him softly because she was afraid he would think she was crazy. Connor looked around and then whispered, "Really?... And what?"  
"Before I leave my apartment, I have to check if the stove and the iron are off... If the bathroom light is still switched on. If the windows are shut..."  
"And... how long do you need for this?", Connor asked.  
"It depends..."  
"How much you have to check?"  
"Yes," she nodded, watching if their friends had heard their conversation, "What about you?"  
"No," he shook his head, "I don´t do such things." Both of them were laughing and got up from her suitcases when they saw their driver had parked his car outside the hotel.

Fin


End file.
